Taylor Augusta Hebert
by Tarkus the Jaguar
Summary: Taylor Hebert wanted to be anyone else. Agent Maine didn't want to die. Well, two out of two was a win, right?
1. I'm not Fat! My Armour is Heavy!

**So... Trying my hand at something new. All feedback is welcome, even non constructive criticism.**

Agent Maine had not been having a good day. He'd finally – _finally_ – gotten his hands on Beta, one of the last A.I's he could reach. [1] Then those… MORONS, had tied him to a car, and kicked it off a cliff. Even as he tried to take the yellow one down with him [2], the asshole had the gall to steal his weapon, his treasured brute shot, and save himself with the cliff wall.

Then he'd felt ice, all around, crushing, stabbing pain, and finally darkness as the water of Sidewinder embraced him. His last thought was that it was a rather ironic death, remembering as he'd thrown Carolina off the edge of an oh-so-similar cliff only a few years prior. He did not regret it. Even if she'd been trying to help at the time, she was responsible for him getting his hands on Sigma…

Or rather, Sigma getting his hands on him, and driving him insane.

That was part of the reason he'd wanted Beta over Epsilon; Texas and her daughter were very similar, and he couldn't stab Carolina in the face, as he'd already killed her. Besides, he felt Epsilon was… a kindred spirit, perhaps. He represented everything the Director had once been, so long ago, when Maine had first met him.

So when he woke up in an _incredibly_ cramped metal box, he was annoyed. His first though was that somehow he'd survived, which he dismissed. His second was that maybe the Director or a Freelancer had rescued him, but once again that was silly. Why would the Director want his broken dog of war back?

The next thing that hit him was the smell. Gods, fermented blood was disgusting. So he disabled that sense for now, so he could focus. He felt something slimy run down his arms, and shivered, more out of surprise than disgust. He'd had far worse, after all. But he apparently wasn't wearing his armour any more, which was alarming. He would admit, he had come to rely on it.

He felt naked without its reassuring weight, and deeply desired it back.

Much to his surprise, the slimy feeling stopped, and he felt a large, grating sound that he could immediately recognise as metal. The weird box he was in was torn to shreds as his already cramped form suddenly grew with the new addition.

As weird as it was, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Ah, even after such a short absence, his armour was a godsend. A wave of calmness washed over him as light started glaring, drastically reduced until his eyes adjusted. He was standing in a hallway of some sort, barren bar for him.

There were rows of identical metal boxes that looked like the lockers they'd had in the Project, and they were all run down, old, visibly rusted, or covered in graffiti. He glanced behind him, and saw the box he'd been in was practically identical, bar the fact that it was now in shreds. And that there were all kinds of disgusting, bloodied rags covered in insects where it had been.

So someone had locked him in a box, covered in gross stuff. Joy. He felt like he was back in basic training again. To be honest, he was somewhat disappointed in whoever had thought this up. He'd once beaten a man to death with his own spine, if they wanted to gross him out, they'd need to try harder than that.

Maine ran a quick scan of his armour, and much to his relief, nothing was damaged. Even his armour enhancements were working fine, despite his lack of an A.I. to run them. He pinged communications, to try and find out where he was. There was an infuriatingly long delay, before the call was picked up.

"Who is this, and how did you gain access to this channel?" Asked a gruff, impatient sounding man sharply.

Maine growled out his name, and as was standard, an inhuman growl sounded out in the place of his voice.

"…Right, either I've been awake too long… or I need to run a debug on my communications," The man on the other side said, seemingly to himself. "No time for sleep, Tinkering to do… I'll just run a debug for now," The man muttered, hanging up.

Well THAT was rude, and also very distinctly not the number he should've been connected to. Yet when he glanced at his call log, he hadn't made a mistake. So either his communications were glitching, which a quick scan showed they weren't, his entire armour was broken, more likely but disproven by activating his bubble shield briefly, or he was in another dimension.

Well, he'd learned to accept weirder when he'd first witnessed North and Wyoming having a shoot off, for the title of best marksman. One would think that you couldn't hit seventeen targets at different heights, facing different directions, and in entirely different rooms, dead centre with one shot. One would be wrong.

Besides, he'd already been to another dimension once, back when he was just a standard soldier in the war against the Covenant. Sure, it was more of a pocket dimension, but anything that could be achieved small scale could also work big scale.

Maine was sprung from his musings by a familiar feeling in his throat, signalling he was parched. It wasn't the normal feeling, which had gone with his vocal cords, but rather an electronic equivalent developed so he didn't dehydrate. So he growled to himself, and looked around for somewhere he could get water.

Spotting an ancient water fountain relatively nearby, he began to make his way towards it. As he reached it, he sighed mentally, realising he'd have to take off his armour to drink. But much to his surprise, the armour vanished as if in response. He experimented a few times, and confirmed that yes, he could summon and dismiss it. Awesome, and practical, unlike most of the changes usually made to his armour.

Seriously, last time the only change had been an added voice modifier. AFTER he'd had his vocal cords severed. They had spent millions of credits on getting an entirely new suit of armour for that purpose and that purpose alone. It probably made sense, at least in theory, but in practice no one had synched it up so that it could actually read him, and he still couldn't talk. All it was in practice was a multi-million way of rubbing salt into the wound.

But he was getting distracted. He leaned forward and drank deeply from the water fountain. Sure, it tastes absolutely disgusting, and was filled with all kinds of chemicals, but the important thing was that he quenched his thirst, and as such could put his armour back on.

Ah, bliss.

Right, so his first though was determining where he was. And considering the building looked like a remarkably worn down school from centuries ago, he would likely draw attention if spotted in his armour. Damn it… Plus, when he looked back where he'd come, he'd left footprint like dents in the ground. Apparently the building wasn't built to hold a tons of weight, as was supposed to be standard issue. [3]

He dismissed the armour with a long, drawn out growl, and began making his way outside. If memory served correctly, the old schools' offices were usually easy enough to find, and this place was clearly styled for the past. He could make his enquiry there.

However, now that he wasn't thirsty, he could noticed a lot of things were wrong with his body. He felt weak, and was moving in different ways, and looked down. He was a girl. Well, that would explain a lot, but also brought up a whole slew of other questions. His new body was slightly above par in fitness, for a civilian, he supposed. But he had no upper body strength to speak of.

He doubted he could even lift ten kilos, which was frankly pathetic. He used to be able to lift roughly two hundred, even without his armour's strength enhancement. That would be the first thing to go, so he made a mental note to devise an exercise regime as soon as he could reliably test his new physical limits.

His new body showed signs that with a bit of care, it would likely become very attractive in a few years, which was new. He had never been very good looking guy, or really cared for his appearance. He wore his armour more than ninety percent of the time, so he'd never felt the need.

Turning once he reached the top of a flight of stairs, he was both amazed that he felt even the slightest bit tired from twenty steps, and how ridiculously long his hair was. It was well cared for, he supposed, but highly impractical, which was why he'd shaved his off. Still, he supposed there was no real need to continue that – his armour would make it a non-issue.

He spotted what he assumed to be the administration office, and almost broke down laughing, for multiple reasons. First, the building was in horrid condition. Second, apparently this was an actual, running school, and third, they still used _glass_ _sliding doors_! _UN-IRONICALLY!_ Seriously, there's someone on the communications network. It's the Dinosaurs calling. They want their outdated technology back.

Stepping through the doors and catching sight of the workers sitting at their desks, he couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy. Ah, paperwork. The Nemesis of all, who can never be defeated, only subdued.

Ond of the worker's eyes gazed over to him and sparked in recognition. Apparently he made the right choice coming without his armour. The Clerk's eyes widened in alarm.

"Oh my goodness, Ms. Hebert, are you okay? What happened?" Maine made a motion for a pen and paper, the one form of communication he felt most comfortable, but the clerk missed it, having turned around.

"Never mind, I'll call your father for you." And at that stage, Maine couldn't move. If he opened his mouth, he knew he would lose it and start laughing. Because the Clerk had picked up an honest-to-god _LANDLINE_. If Maine were still confident in his ability to talk, he would congratulate them for acquiring such an ancient antique. Seriously, he'd seen more advanced phones in a museum.

And apparently the Clerk wasn't joking, because they genuinely started dialling with it. Maine was tempted to intercept the call, but that would require donning his armour. Apparently he was recognised as a different person here, however, so it probably wasn't the best move. Besides, the Clerk made no attempt to hide their words as they spoke to this 'Danny Hebert of the Block Skirter's association. Amateur. That was a prime way for intelligence gathering, and there were standard protocols for a reason.

He briefly considered filing a formal complaint, but the Clerk seemed genuinely concerned with Maine's welfare, and he wasn't sure why. He took a quick look down at himself and found he was covered in some bloodied items. Ah, that would probably do it. Civilians had no stomach to speak of for that kind of thing.

The Clerk said Taylor, glancing over in his direction, which confused Maine. How did the Clerk know his birth name? It was classified information, and he'd left it behind almost a decade ago. And also… if he was, as he suspected, in someone else's body, the chances of them also being named Taylor were astronomical.

Bored, Maine glanced around the room, and quickly caught sight of a newspaper, and stiffened in shock. The date read January First, 2011. More than five Hundred years ago, and was in perfect condition.

* * *

 **[1] Maine needed an A.I to properly run his equipment, and all but two he knew of were destroyed by an E.M.P**

 **[2] The joke is cannon, because the guy's armour is orange, not yellow. He frequently complains, saying 'didn't you have a box of crayons when you were a kid'? When people get it wrong.**

 **[3] Maine's armour is HEAVY. From a ten meter drop, he shatter the equivalent of a tank's front, and sent it flipping through the air.**


	2. Hospitals Suck

**Right! Chapter two! Also, I apologize for my stupid lack of oversight, and have included a description of what Maine is like in RvB cannon. Also, when references are made to it, I'll explain them after the chapter. Sorry about that.**

* * *

Agent Maine was unashamed to admit that, when his so called 'father' had arrived, he had feigned Amnesia. It made sense as a plan. He wasn't aware of where he was, and the world was vastly different to the ones he had lived in previously. If he had retrograde amnesia, people would answer the questions he asked that seemed stupid.

Which was why he had found himself in hospital, getting treated and cleaned up by an… enthusiastic nurse, who obviously wanted to be literally anywhere else, but had decided to feign energy. It seemed some things never changed. He'd only ever met one doctor or nurse who had genuinely been happy to be dealing with a particularly gruesome case.

He was fairly sure they were a psychopath. And yet even without that, his current injuries were barely worth mentioning. A slightly cracked arm was the most notable. Other than that, there was merely slight physical exhaustion, a few bruises, and a suspected case of shock. Shock?! For this? That was insulting. Besides, a few minutes under his healing unit would fix all of the physical stuff.

The 'technology' available in this time was insultingly lax. Especially the medicine.

Then there was the matter of his new father; Maine was actually roughly the same age as the man. His actual father he hadn't seen in decades, and he didn't particularly want one. Still, he'd decided to play along, and had tested the man's sincerity. After all, he could be lying. So when the man had visited Maine yesterday, he'd written out a simple message.

'Are you actually my father?'

Through carefully studying the physical response, Maine had determined the man was. The look on the man's face had been one he was familiar with; the absolute honesty of the dying. Although why the man believed he had nothing to live for without a daughter, Maine didn't know. Or particularly care. So when the man had said yes, Maine had written that he believed him.

Ugh… he was someone's daughter now. It was still weird to think about, so he usually… didn't. Not much he could do to change it, so he'd just ignore it unless it was directly relevant. Like it had been when he'd mentally planned his training schedule. He'd probably have to rely more on his lower half in combat, due to natural strength. Luckily he still remembered some basic kickboxing.

He'd have to test his current level of fitness before planning the numbers for his exercise program, something he annoyingly couldn't do because he 'needed bedrest', but nonetheless he felt satisfied as he finally finished the first draft of his plan. The mood didn't last long, however, as his 'father', Danny, came in looking shocked and told her she had 'visitors'.

Maine resisted the urge to growl. He'd had a whole week with just the one, and Danny was way too clingy for Maine's tastes. He preferred to be left alone. Now he had _more_? He couldn't be more excited for the day he could leave the dumb hospital. Seriously, he'd been in here for the same length of time as he'd been hospitalised after having his throat ruined.

Two rather imposing figures walked in, and much to his surprise, Maine felt genuinely happy. From their stances and motions, they weren't civilians. One was carrying a pistol, the other was wearing armour, and they walked with a level of confidence no non-soldier could replicate. Finally, a chance to talk to whatever passed for soldiers around here!

"Hello, Ms. Hebert. May I call you Taylor?" The female figure asked. She was dressed in classic (and by that he meant ancient) military fatigues. Her lower face was hidden by a scarf of the American flag, and there was a matching sash around her wasted. Her eyes had slight lines that showed she smiled a lot, and her tone was affectionate, but not overly so.

Maine was instantly on guard, and felt another surge of joy. This woman, whoever she was, was likely a master negotiator and manipulator. The type who appeared and often were genuinely friendly, but always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Perhaps this might not be so bad after all. Maine nodded, and spun to face them properly.

"I'm Miss Militia, and this is Armsmaster, the leader of the Protectorate East-North-East," the woman begun. Huh, the protectorate was certainly an odd name for the army, so she was likely just in a militant group. They way she'd phrased that indicated that this 'Armsmaster', a pompous title if he'd ever heard one, was her superior. But nonetheless, they used codenames, and he approved. That way no one could go after your family or loved ones.

"If you don't mind, could we ask you some questions?" Once again not bothering to write out a reply, Maine merely nodded and smiled slightly. He could see the subtle ways her eyes were analysing him. This would be fun.

Armsmaster pulled out a photograph from his armour, studying it. It was fairly aesthetically pleasing armour, he supposed. It was a nice blue, and left his jaw exposed. Bad for combat, but comforting to civilians. Still, he could tell from the design that while strong, it was substantially weaker than even the lightest armour used by Project Freelancer's standard soldiers. [1]

"Could you tell us, in your own words, what happened today at your school?" Armsmaster asked curtly. Maine wrote out that he didn't know, which he actually didn't.

"How far back do you remember?" The man proceeded, unfazed. Miss Militia shot him a sharp look, and Maine mentally chuckled. No social skills, blunt and impatient. He knew someone like that. Saw them every day, in the mirror.

' _I remember waking up inside a box, and then being outside of the box. Nothing before.'_ Maine wrote out calmly. Technically it was a lie, but the advantage of writing over speaking was no lie detector would work against him. And Armsmaster no doubt had one in his armour. Maine would be insulted if he didn't.

Armsmaster frowned slightly, before showing Maine the photograph, which had a weird 'C' engraved on something's body. "Do you have this mark anywhere on your body?" The man asked, and Maine simply shook his head. Why they suspected he'd get a tattoo, he didn't know, but even if he did, he wouldn't get a tattoo of something that bland.

"Are you sure?" Armsmaster pressed. Maine growled, and Miss Militia shot him another dirty look. Wow… Maine could sympathise. Miss Militia was obviously the people person, and Armsmaster would've done better by not speaking at all. So Maine wrote a reply.

' _Yes, I am absolutely, positively sure that I don't have that mark on my body.'_ Luckily, it seemed Armsmaster finally understood he'd overstepped, and grimaced slightly, backing off a bit with a very subtle gesture to Miss Militia, who gave him a sympathetic look.

"I apologise for his… bluntness, there are a group of people in similar situations to yours, and he wanted to see if you were one of them. We have yet to actually see where one of the Case 53's came from." Maine nodded with a slight grunt.

"That said, I would like to ask one final question, Taylor. Are you a cape?"

'Cape'? What a weird term. From the context, he imagined they weren't referring to what basically amounted to a bedsheet tied over one's back. But what did it mean then? Maine cocked his head to the side, before picking up his notepad again.

' _What is a cape?'_

Miss Militia seemed genuinely surprised by that, but answered nonetheless. "A cape, or Parahuman, is someone with superhuman abilities, such as super strength. Your locked was completely torn to shreds, so it's likely that you have them."

Superhuman strength? Yeah, that fit him. But he wasn't sure that was quite what they meant. Did they mean superpowers? If so, he supposed being able to summon and dismiss his armour and weapon counted. He had been confused by how that worked, and all of the Freelancers had been trained in mechanics for field repairs and maintenance. It could fit. In fact, he most likely was.

' _No.'_ Maine had written out, acting disappointed. That was one of the advantages of writing instead of speaking; lying was easier. Nonetheless, he didn't feel bad about it. It wasn't personal, it was just a matter of security. Until he knew more about being a 'cape', it was best to be allowed to anonymously research the issue.

He could always inform them later, if he decided he wanted to. And they technically couldn't prove he was a cape in the meantime, as he was unfortunately a baseline human without his armour. He'd also checked at the school, and no person or camera had seen him. He was sure of that. Plus, in his armour he was almost half a foot taller that he was without it, and built entirely differently. It would be easy to hide.

Miss Militia acted, or was, sympathetic and apologised for intruding, while Armsmaster seemed sceptical. Nonetheless, they both quickly left, after promising to investigate what had happened to him. Maine was also completely sure that neither of them believed him in the slightest about not being a 'cape'. Oh well, that would make things easier if he even did retract his anonymity.

Hopefully he would be able to work with them in the future. That was one of the most entertaining conversations he'd had in a long time. He'd tried 'talking' to his father once or twice, but the man knew nothing of fancy tech, had no interest in combat, was a terrible liar, and knew barely anything about politics.

Fucking civilians, with their boring, normal lives lived in a box… He was grateful the man seemed to care about him, because that would make things easier in the future, but seriously. There was a reason Maine tried to avoid mundane things. They were mundane, and usually pointless. Mundane seemed to be this man's job description.

Honestly, who would willingly work for a dying organisation in a dying city, where getting work for anyone was a genuine achievement? There was a difference between morality and stupidity. It might be moral to jump in front of a gun being shot at an orphan, for example, but it was still stupid. After you died the shooter would just shoot the orphan too.

Danny said something about if Maine wanted to talk he could always talk to him, or something equally cheesy, but Maine ignored him. Why was everyone so touchy-feely? Feelings should be expressed far more obviously. If you care for someone, buy them something, be kind to them, cook them something or learn about their hobbies. If you hated someone, punch them in the face. [2]

What was the point of 'talking'? If he needed to get his feelings off his chest, he'd go to a psychiatrist. You know, the people who were literally trained I helping people with difficult issues. Sure, sometimes venting felt good, but it wouldn't _help_ unless the person you were venting too could actually do something about it.

Besides, Danny might not like to learn that he wasn't his daughter, but rather a mass-murdering Freelancer and soldier. The man had seemed fairly upset when he'd read the beginnings of a journal Maine had started.

Now Journals made sense. They helped you centre yourself. They were also supposed to be private, so it wasn't his fault the man had read about how he'd been recruited into a super soldier project. He may have done into a bit too much detail on the gore, but hey, if it's worth remembering, it's worth remembering right.

Maine checked the time and sighed. Still fourteen more hours until he was allowed out of the hospital, and even then they'd need to 'test' him. Ugh.

* * *

 **[1] They're soldiers from five hundred years in the future. They go down easily enough in cannon, because the weapons are also advanced, but their armour would be amazingly powerful when compared to modern tech. Space Marines OP**

 **[2] The person who shot out Maine's throat, he killed by hitting once in the face, knocking his helmet off and crushing his skull. Maine is insanely strong.**

 **About Maine:**

 **Maine is the toughest and physically strongest soldier in a group of tough and physically strong soldiers. They each have their own specialties, but his is purely physical. He can take a beating like no one else, and can throw things heavy enough that others can't budge them. Maine is a mute, capable of only monstrous growls, and even before he lost his voice, was very quiet. He's very confident in his own abilities, loves psychological warfare, and is somewhat sadistic.**

 **Notable moments:**

 **In a training fight, Maine's allies went down to two glancing blows from a weapon to the chest. To take him down, his opponent hit his five times in the chest, three times in the face, and broke the training weapon against his head. Maine still got back up and stumbled around a bit, whereas his allies were down for the count.**

 **Maine once stops a multi-ton military vehicle, which was going at it's max speed, by catching it with his fists after centering himself. He then broke it, with his bare hands.**

 **He also picked up and threw another vehicle of similar weight, and broke a third by landing on it from a short height.**

 **Maine can take a serious beating. One time he was shot in the chest with an armour piercing sniper rifle round, shot nine times in the throat point blank by a pistol, once more in the arm, and hit by a truck at highway speed. The only permanent damage was his loss of speech, and his was still conscious as he flew off the highway.**

 **Armour:**

 **His armour is a plain white, with a yellow reflective visor that covers most of his head. It also has many enhancements, which he stole from other Freelancers:**

 **Strength: Self explanatory**

 **Time dilation: Stopping time temporarily, or accelerating himself to a ridiculous degree.**

 **Bubble shield: An impenetrable circle for protection, but can't be moved once established, only dropped.**

 **Energy shield: A very strong personal forcefield**

 **Healing unit: Rapid regeneration, to an insane degree. If something would be lethal, the unit will keep him stable with almost no risk of death. Anything less would heal fairly quickly.**

 **Invisibility: Can cloak himself, or use to change the colours of his armour to blend in.**


	3. Training Montage

Maine panted loudly as he came to a halt, ensuring that he maintained a good posture and kept moving, even as his muscles screamed like they were dying. Fucking hell, he'd forgotten how hard it was to start training seriously when you weren't fit. He'd spent the last few decades of his life at the peak of human fitness!

Now, his body was screaming at him after a seven mile light jog. Fucking civilians. What was worse, was that as people were nearby, he couldn't don his armour for his healing unit. That would speed things up exponentially. Then again, it was probably a good thing, because he didn't want to leave footsteps in solid cement everywhere he went. People would get suspicious, and suspect him of being a 'cape'.

He'd only spent about ten minutes so far researching capes, but apparently people knowing who you were was a bad thing. Geez, it's almost like people get jealous when you have something they don't have, and are afraid of things they can't explain! The local heroes 'New Wave' were a perfect example of why you stuck to fucking code names.

Seriously, it barely worked for them, and their entire family had powers. He was honestly surprised they hadn't been lynched, like what happened in the Salem witch trials. Wait… never mind, that was a few decades before. Or was it centuries? Ancient history all kind of blended together after a certain point.

Speaking of, someone drove past in their car, and leered at him. Ugh… He'd forgotten how obnoxious people could be. He honestly didn't recognise the red headed girl, but apparently she had a grudge against him and wanted the whole world to know. How stupid. Then you would be the first suspect if you ever killed them. Seriously, plausible deniability, people!

Maine briefly considered that the girl _wasn't_ planning to kill him. That did sound like the kind of stupid thing a civilian would do. A shame, in a way. If he killed her, it wouldn't be self-defence.

Maine growled out a sigh, and began stretching, knowing he wouldn't be able to jog any further. Heck, he'd probably have trouble walking the next few days, but the Doctor had given him a one week leave of absence from school. He honestly wasn't sure why. Apparently, they suspected he'd had a kind of 'psychotic break' and was 'mentally unstable'.

Yeah, because being covered in blood was sooooo traumatic. Fucking civilians.

Seriously, he honestly didn't know how they were content to live out their lives doing and achieving nothing.

Finishing his stretches, Maine did a half roll backwards, and propelled himself to his feet using his hands. It was an easy trick, but it would help his muscles develop in the right way, and there was no real harm in it. Besides, practising manoeuvres was important, as it'd build up muscle memory.

Back on his feet, Maine moved to a nearby tree, and began practicing his kickboxing, ignoring the agony in his legs as he did so. This garnered even more strange looks, but Maine ignored them. Even for civilians, knowing how to fight wasn't too weird. What were these people's problem? Can't a guy… girl, her corrected himself, kick a tree in peace?

Practicing on air might be necessary for a beginner, but you also needed to get used to actually hitting things. And lacking a sparring partner, a tree was a good substitute. It was heavy, it was tough, and it wouldn't fight back. He knew was he was doing, he didn't need a padded dummy to stop himself from breaking his feet.

After working up a massive sweat from barely a minute of kicking, Maine dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups. His body was too weak for weights as it was, so this would have to do to get started. Besides, if he was careful, once in private he could just heal using his armour. That was an advantage of technology; you could push yourself as hard as you want and still be ready for more.

It was agony, but Maine managed to reach a measly twenty push-ups. His arms started shaking and it was getting seriously uncomfortable, so he spun around and began doing sit-ups. It was, once again, agony, and he barely managed fifteen before he had to stop. Jumping back up, he began another spar with the tree. He only lasted forty seconds this time.

He managed three sets before his body practically gave out, so Maine sighed and went back to stretching. It would take months for him to get properly in shape. Wasn't that depressing?

Although, he did feel a warm, tingly feeling in his chest when he noticed a passing male, tall, well built and of dark skin give an appraising look at his technique [1]. It felt oddly like…

Oh gods, no. He could NOT be getting a crush. He didn't even know the man, didn't want to spend the effort, and wasn't gay, although a lot of his friends had been. Seriously, like, seventy percent. Maybe that meant he was just super closeted or something?

Argh, he was getting off track. He needed to focus on his plans for the future.

He didn't really have anything pressing he wanted to do, but it was still annoying to be out of shape. Apparently, Vigilante justice was practically legal, so that'd be fun, but he wasn't looking forward to being a hero, really. Or villain. He hadn't decided yet.

Why everyone who got superpowers wanted to fight crime, he didn't know. Probably some kind of generational difference? Lots of people wanted to be a soldier in his. But honestly, the only reason he was even considering going out was because he would get bored. The military probably had a minimum age, which his body most certainly did not currently have.

Which meant it would be years before he could do anything productive, and from what he'd gathered, the military was pretty useless anyway. Apparently these giant monsters called 'Endbringers' had started fucking shit up, and were too tough to be stopped by conventional weapons, so they'd just sort of fallen apart.

Although, perhaps the 'capes' were like a military, of sorts? They fought most of the nation's threats, and had a military-esque hierarchy. Maine made note to look into the possibility. He'd probably hate being a soldier in this world, but fighting was all he knew. One way or another, he'd do it, and being arrested for it would be a bad idea.

Although he was an expert at jailbreaking as part of his training, so the ancient jails might as well be made of cardboard as far as he was concerned. Still, it would be inconvenient.

Finishing his stretches, Maine flipped to his feet again, once again ignoring the looks from the passers-by, and begrudgingly started making his way 'home'. He wasn't sure he could really call it that, but soon enough he probably would. It just needed some repairs, which he'd likely do to stem the boredom of a week's worth of inaction.

Sure, researching the world would also help, but one could only read so much before becoming bored witless. Especially in his profession. Soldiers did have to learn their history, but there was a reason they became soldiers, rather than scholars. Sure, there were occasional exceptions, but he certainly wasn't one of them.

* * *

Ugh… one week. It had taken one whole week of daily training, with non-stop training through the nights with use of his armour, to get to the bare minimum standard for soldiers. But he could now do sets of one hundred pushups, situps, squats, tricep dips, and sets of twenty chin-ups. He could also run twenty miles without break, which was slightly above the requirement.

He'd also repaired dozens of things around the house, putting his new muscles to the test, and was convinced they were passable. He could lift heavy stuff now, so that would do.

But it was _oh so_ worth it. He felt stronger, and had more energy. Of course, he'd barely scratched the surface and wasn't even _near_ satisfied, but it was a good start. His 'father' had noticed his exercise and increase in muscle mass, and was surprisingly supportive. He'd also signed Maine up for therapy every weekend, starting the coming Saturday.

Apparently the man had read Maine's completed journal. He obviously hadn't learned from last time, because he'd seemed horrified.

Still, Maine's fitness would have to take the backburner. Today was Monday, and apparently he was due at school. Which he was both excited for and bored of. Bored, pre-emptively, because he knew he wouldn't learn anything. Excited because… he was getting kind of bored. The most interaction he'd had, other than his father, had been with the black teenager who watched him kick box against a tree.

He asked if Maine had wanted to spar, and Maine had unhesitatingly agreed, so they'd be doing that on Thursday, where Maine exercised anyway, for conveniences sake. He was actually looking forward to it, hoping that the boy would be at least somewhat challenging. If he was even slightly competent, it would beat fighting a tree.

Still, his father had packed a wholly inadequate lunch, which Maine would have to deal with until he could cook his own meals. Cooking had never been his strong suite, but he was a very fast learner, and considering that his father seemed rather poor, he'd learn. It was the least he could do to repay the man's kindness. He'd even bought a rather expensive phone with a text-to-speech program!

So kind. Now, rather than being forced, Maine merely _chose_ to remain silent. Sure, he occasionally spoke, but he'd never been a big fan of the concept. Generally, in the army, people told you what to do, and you did it. Speaking usually wasn't needed, unless you were updating someone on a situation.

Maine grabbed his light backpack, loaded with copies of books he'd memorised. Hopefully, there was more than one text book for the curriculum, but it wouldn't surprise him if there wasn't. Maine probably hadn't needed to study that far ahead, but hey, when he did something he went all out. If he was going to attend school, again, he was going to fucking ace it, if only for bragging rights.

Other than that, he had an empty journal and a few pieces of stationary. Nothing else was really necessary.

He did approve of his new body's fashion sense, however. Dull greys and blacks, loose fitting clothing. Simple, plain, not attention attracting. Ideally it would be skin tight for combat, but that would, in turn, draw attention. Maine drew attention anyway, as he always made a note to stride with confidence and arrogance, as well as the fact that the only noises he could make were growls. But it was the principal of the matter.

Why, the new him may as well have been a soldier-in-training! Bar fitness, of course. But that could be fixed easily enough, and from what he'd gathered, the minimum here was insultingly low for acceptance into military programs. Although the 'PRT' had higher standards, thank god. Maybe he'd join that when he was older? They were deployed to fight parahumans, and after studying the local and most notable parahumans, he was excited at the prospect.

Sure, most of them would be terrible fighters, but they had equalisers! It would be fun. Like this 'Lung' character, either named after the Asian dialect, or the cancer. He honestly couldn't tell which, although probably the former due to the tendency to reference your power in your name. How stupid.

What next, were they going to hand out brochures of their weaknesses before every combat? Amateurs.

Maine began reaching the end of his light jog, having barely worked up a sweat, and having arrived at the school he'd woken up in; Winslow. As, this would be fun. He strolled in happily.

* * *

 **Next chapter will be more exciting, promise!**

 **[1] Yes, that's Grue.**


	4. Grena- I MEAN RECORDER

**So... Kind of suck at writing the Winslow characters. Hopefully I did a decent job.**

* * *

One of the first things Maine encountered inside of Winslow, was that one red head who'd leered at him. Huh, small world! Wait, never mind. She'd probably leered because she knew him. That would make more sense. Oh, great, he was going to have to put up with more of that, wasn't he? At least until he had a good enough reputation to get them to fuck off.

Almost immediately the girl began heading towards him with a smirk. Maine resisted the urge to let out a long sigh, and instead adopted his usual look; bored beyond comprehension, and someone you didn't want to mess with. As was typical of a civilian, the girl didn't notice. Nor did she notice the fact that Maine was clearly walking in a martial arts stance.

Although actually the last one was understandable. From what he knew the basic military martial art hadn't been invented yet. Maybe she'd recognise a kickboxing style? That was pretty ancient, and as changed as it was, the basics were the same.

"Peee-you! What a stink!" The girl said 'maliciously'. Hahahahahahahahahaha. That was adorable. Maine let out a quiet growl, just loud enough for the girl to hear it. She paled slightly. "Oh, got something in your throat? Maybe it's from the cock you keep choking on?"

The red haired girl seemed proud of her 'amazing recovery' and her fear eased.

It was pretty obvious the girl hated her. And judging by the looks of the passers-by, the girl was a very popular, 'influential' person. Mean Maine was at the bottom of the social status? That worked. It meant he wouldn't have to pretend to be friends with people he didn't know and firmly disliked.

He hadn't met them yet, but it was a fair assumption.

He briefly considered not replying, but that didn't tend to work when people weren't scared of him.

Maine rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, typing with a speed that was practically impossible for those who hadn't spent years practising in a brutal training program. Typing helped with paperwork, so thus was vital to perfect.

The voice program was originally mechanical, but Maine had modified it. He was no expert in programming, but now it actually sounded human, rather than a bored robot. He could even add inflections to the words!

"That's more your speed, from what I gather," The voice called out faithfully, adding the inflections at the right times. Maine was by no means an expert at insulting banter, but he was far more experienced than this girl. He was confident. Words weren't the always weapon of the weak, just usually. They could sting, but most people used them because they had nothing else. If all else fails, Maine could just punch her.

The girl seemed momentarily taken aback, before recovering and opening her mouth with a 'vicious' smile. Ahaha, that was even better the second time. Nonetheless, Maine's phone interrupted her.

"By the way, what's your name?"

"Too dumb to remember the name of someone you've known for years? What drugs are you on?" Once again, the girl looked proud of herself, like she'd given the sickest burn of the year. It was cute. Like a puppy growling at a Scorpion [1]

"Nope, Amnesiac," His phone stated, right on cue. Hey it was a good lie! He was going to stick with it. Besides, he might as well be. "Just as well, too; that way I don't have to deal with memories of where you got the gigantic stick that's stuck up your ass."

A few people who had been walking by turned as if shocked, and visibly decided to watch it, as the red head opened her mouth for another verbal 'barb'. Disappointingly, the bell rang. It was one of the really annoying bells, too. A simple alarm would do! No reason to keep it going!

Maine began making his way to his first class… World Issues, was it? He'd memorised the layout of the school and his schedule, of course, so he took his time.

The red hair 'accidentally' brushed past him as she walked, trying to add a shove in the mix to knock him over. Maine didn't budge an inch, and the red head barely kept her balance.

Hahaha! This was going to be fun, if this kept up. It would get annoying eventually, but it was obvious the girl had been 'bullying' him. She seemed intent to keep doing so. Oh, this was going to be good. He'd deal with it, of course, but her pathetic flailing's would be amusing for a while.

After a short stroll, by which he meant around the entire school to better familiarise himself with the layout (a map was one thing, it was important to get a feel for it in person) Maine showed up to his class. The rest of the students were already seated, and the only remaining chair was covered in glue. Judging by the smirks of the classmates, this was another attempt at bullying.

Or a practical joke between friends, but the latter was unlikely, all things considered.

Especially considering the red head was in this class, once again trying to be malicious. Here was also a girl who tried to look 'cute' but in reality looked like a child, and a black girl who was glaring with intent at him. Aw, how adorable! The red head had back up! Although to be fair, the black girl was doing a… passable attempt at intimidation. It needed work, but he could see how it would frighten civilians.

After all, he was an exception to the rule. Facing down a relatively well built teenager wasn't scary once you'd faced down a fully grown elite.

The teacher was already present, but hadn't actually started the lesson. They looked like a relatively friendly, if awkward and socially driven person. Mr Gladly, if he was remembering correctly.

Maine moved a few steps to the door, and stood patiently, arms crossed behind his back. Apparently that was a bit of a social faux pas. Whoop de fucking do. Although from the teacher's reaction, you'd think he'd stabbed someone or something.

"Ms Hebert, please take a seat," The teacher said, trying to adopt a stern, disapproving voice yet also trying to seem friendly. Ugh… his voice was annoying. It was a perfect balance of being nasal and being deep. Brought out the negatives of both.

Maine turned his head and fixed him with a blank stare. After a few seconds, he looked at the seat, walking over and picked it up with one hand. Taking his time, of course.

He then proceeded to slowly, steadily walk back to besides the door, and resumed his position, holding the chair behind his back.

If the man was going to ask him to sit down in a glue covered seat, Maine would be a pedant.

There were snickers in the mouths of the mindless sheep, once again trying to belay a negative light. Seriously? That was _not_ how you expressed distaste! Just punch or shun the person. What they were doing only served as peer pressure, and that didn't work when you didn't think of the people doing it as peers.

He'd killed almost a hundred people and destroyed a high tech piece of heavily armoured equipment with his bare hands. They were not his fucking equals. Although generally people who accomplished nothing always thought far more highly of themselves than they had the right to.

"I meant to sit down, Taylor," The teacher said 'seriously', once again trying to sound stern yet not overbearing. This time, Maine just fixed him with a blank, unblinking stare.

After almost four minutes, the man seemed to get the point. He was sweating slightly, and seemed unnerved. Seriously? He could see a kid in the class had a knife on his side. And he was intimidated by a blank stare. Maine repressed a sigh. If you were going to be a teacher in a school where knives were accepted and people blatantly wore gang colours, you needed to be made of sterner stuff.

Seriously. Maine had done, like, a few hour's research, and he could already tell who was in a gang. They were pretty fucking blatant about it.

Maine noticed the black girl staring at him, so he met her gaze, paying attention to the lesson as an afterthought. The man was talking, but he wasn't saying anything of value. He was just mindlessly blathering. Going on and on about some project or another, and the ever exciting 'group work' which people seemed happy to receive.

The man then asked Maine to join a group, as the other students split up, so Maine turned his stare back towards him.

"Miss Hebert, if you can't follow instructions given to you by your teacher, I'll have to send you to the principal's office."

At that stage, Taylor genuinely almost burst out laughing. Oh, so scary!

Maine made no attempt to move, and rather than trying to follow up on his 'threat', the teacher turned back to the class, although he was trying to convey that Maine would hear of it later.

He doubted it. Legally speaking he wasn't required to attend after the bell rang. In theory, he had to attend as long as the teacher wanted him too, but it was once again the fact of what the fuck were they going to do if he chose to ignore them? Nothing. Whatever they did would be very, very minor, at most, and that was on the principal he cared at all.

Detentions? He wouldn't show up. Homework? He was easily the smartest person in the room. A call to his father? He could easily twist it to make the teacher in question appear ableist, mistreating him because he had no memories and thus couldn't be expected to know what to do.

Honestly, that had been the reason he had full out prevented the teachers from learning about his 'disability'. He was require by law to update his medical records, but no one from the school had even bothered to follow up on his hospitalization, bar giving them a tiny bit of a bribe to shut up.

They probably thought he'd just had a psychotic break, which he once again felt faintly insulted by. Seriously, it hadn't been nearly as bad as some of the other stuff he'd had to do.

His two primary weapons were high enough powered explosives to shred _vehicles_ and what amounted to a knife mounted on his grenade launcher. That ended up in him covered in blood on a regular basis. Usually guts as well.

To get into Project Freelancer he'd had to take a bath in blood and guts. He could honestly say that was one of the least disturbing parts of his experiences since enlisting. It being a bit fermented didn't make it any worse.

Thankfully, the class didn't take long and they had a break. Maine placed his chair down, and ignored the teacher calling for him to stay, as well as the students once again trying to insult him, letting out a sigh.

They had done so blatantly, in front of a teacher, so the staff were obviously corrupt. Joy. He hated the whole concept of conspiracies, mainly because in his book, anyone who found one was a paranoid asshole who thought too highly of themselves. If you looked for one, whether there was one or not, you were an idiot.

Which meant he wouldn't be able to just troll the students bullying him for a while and then deal with it. That in mind, Maine began making his way to the roof. Rooves were usually secluded.

There was a padlock on the entrance, for all that meant. It was so rusted Maine was able to straight up snap it off.

Now in privacy, Maine quickly ate some of his food, before setting to work.

Donning his armour, Maine quickly removed his helmet and began stripping his recorder from it. After a few minutes, he also absently set aside a few other pieces, before dismissing the rest of his armour. Thankfully, the parts he'd taken off stayed, although it took concentration for him to keep them up.

The camera was small, so he stuck it on his forehead. There were also a few beads that would also be recorded from. The original purpose was to be able to scout out an area or watch for guards, alternatively boosting his sensor's range. But it would serve as a good substitute.

That done, Maine hid his bits and bobs, ignoring the bell as it rang. After a minute, he began making his way to his next class. However, before entering, he carefully set up the remote cameras in the nearby areas. Of course, by nearby area he meant the entire floor, but that was just for safety.

Sadly, the teachers being corrupt had drained all the fun out of the pitiful attempts at bullying. Best resolve it quickly, then. Hopefully one of them go physical.

A good lawyer could argue 'self-defence' quite a long way.

With Maine's good mood restored, he walked into his next class.

Unlike the last teacher, this one looked competent enough. Although more in a detective way than a teacher. Maine wasn't sure who was sending someone undercover or why, but they had picked quite likely the worst person possible for the job. Even the way he spoke reminded Maine of detectives.

Somehow, none of the other students had noticed. Even the black girl who looked vaguely intimidating and had a soldier's eye.

Well, the potential for one at least. After a while of being with the military, you could always tell who was observational. The black girl was very, very observational. Pitiful compared to where he felt she should be, but he meant in comparison to a civilian.

"Ah, Ms Hebert, thank you for joining us," The teacher opened. Ah, there you go! Someone who understood how to leave meanings in their words! Take that, fucking 'Gladly'. "Mr Quinlan is sick, so I'll be filling in for him today."

A relief teacher. Honestly, whoever had sent this guy undercover wasn't even trying. The only way it would possibly be effective was if they were regularly a relief teacher. But that would also be stupid, because they'd have no reason to have a 'covert' operative periodically checking a school.

Unfortunately, the subject of math was mind numbingly boring to you when you could figure out the most 'advanced' stuff in a second in your head. When he'd first gotten his Brute Shot, he'd had to memorise dozens of physics equations to account for the drop and recoil of his weapon. Beginner's algebra was nothing.

Thankfully, the teacher got on with teaching, and succinctly explained the subject, as well as demonstrating how it was done with examples, followed by letting the students work from a text book. The same maths textbook Maine had absently finished. Damn it, that was probably the only one.

The class was redeemed by not being very long, however. Maine just sat and focused dead ahead of him for the hour it lasted. It was a good test of patience, and let him eavesdrop on the different conversations happening around him.

When the bell rang, Maine clicked on his recording devices, and slowly made his way outside. The teacher was the first one out the door, striding away with confidence.

Predictably, the bullies decided to try and further taunt Maine. They 'cornered' him by the door, blocking his escape by crowding around, and began throwing taunts. Calling him fat, anorexic, a slut, and a prude. Was this the normal level of stupid civilians were, or was it a special, high school brand of stupid? The least they could do was not contradict each other.

The red head and the black girl seemed to be the ringleaders, as they were watching on with satisfaction. The black girl seemed annoyed, probably at his lack of reaction, and began almost furious when Maine met her gaze.

Perfect. Anger management issues, he could work with. Pulling out his phone, Maine typed quickly.

"A big enough coward you need nine supporters to take me on, and even then too scared to do so physically?" Maine smirked at the girl in time with his phone's announcement, to show the girl he was talking to her.

As he'd expected, the girl screamed profanity, something about 'teaching the prey it's place', and stepped forwards, punching him squarely in the face.

Maine resisted the urge to laugh and fist pump. Perfect. Now he could easily get the girl charged with assault, and the others probably charged with perjury if it ever became a court case. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to get a restraining order, or a change of schools.

After one day, Maine had already decided he didn't like this school. Apparently it was a bad one, and there were supposedly nicer ones, so maybe he'd be able to get into one of them.

With that in mind, Maine grabbed the girl's head, pulling her forwards and kneeing her violently in the gut. Something cracked.

The girl let out a gasp of pain, and the other girls looked shocked. Seriously? A few cracked ribs were enough to get you down? That was even more pathetic than he'd expected.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Heeb!" The girl threatened quietly, her voice filled with rage, pulling out a knife from her side. Wow, that was even better! Now he had her pinned for attempted murder. Seriously, the girl needed therapy, so it was a double win! Wasn't he such a nice person, getting this violent sociopath the help she needed?

Maine was tempted to duck the knife slash, but instead caught the girl's wrist, quickly taking her into an arm bar, pinning her to the floor. The girl tried to struggle, but Maine applied just enough pressure to break her arm. The girl let out a pained grunt.

The other girls had run off, although the red haired one and the 'cute' one were returning with a teacher, looking awfully happy with themselves. Jokes on them. Anything they said would just be more lies he could prove were lies.

Holding the bar just long enough for the teacher to get a good view of it, Maine released the girl, standing up. The girl spun to her feet, practically frothing and preparing to attack him.

"What's going on here?" The teacher demanded. It was the teacher they'd had for math, the undercover person.

"This fucking pyscho tackled me to the ground and broke my arm!" The black girl yelled angrily, lying through her teach even as she hid the knife she'd pulled. Well, 'lying' because technically he _had_ done that. Misleading, that was the right term.

The man adopted a grim face. "We're taking this to the principal. I expected better of you, Miss Hebert. Sophia, do you need to go to the nurse?"

Huh, so that was the black girl's name. Surprisingly, Sophia was holding in her pain, instead tagging along. That was both impressive and disturbing. Impressive because she was walking off a broken arm, at least for now. Disturbing, because what kind of teacher didn't force a student who'd admitted they had a broken arm into the infirmary?

Maine allowed himself to smirk, fingering the playback device that showed what his cameras recorded. Even as they walked, it was editing all of the different footages taken, selecting the two best ones and making a video of them, ready to be played back.

Mission successful.

* * *

"Miss Hebert," The principal said with finality, slamming shut a folder. Seriously? She'd clearly not been reading it. Apparently she thought drama was appropriate. "There had been some serious accusations against you. I've already heard there side of the story. Now, would you care to explain yourself?"

Well, if that wasn't a heavy bias, he was a girl. Wait… bad example. Maine dismissed the thought as unimportant, pulling out a device from his side.

It looked pretty much exactly like you'd expect a recording device to look like. There was a lens, and a few different buttons with symbols that represented different types of photography. There were dials to adjust the lens.

It was totally a grenade.

Only once, had the fake recorder set to explode when destroyed had actually proved necessary. The footage had made his day.

Just in case Blackwell was more corrupt than he thought, he'd use it. He desperately hoped she tried to destroy it. If she did, he'd still have the evidence, _and_ he'd get to watch the small explosion seriously wound her.

Nonetheless, he primed it and lay it on the desk. The principal looked at it and raised an eyebrow, even as Maine quickly typed.

"This is a recording device," Hehe, still totally a grenade. Thankfully, she bought it. "That recorded the actual events that occurred. Namely, Ms Sophia starting the assault, and me acting in self-defence when she pulled a knife."

Blackwell visibly paled, and wisely kept her mouth shut. Ah, the wonders of calling people on their shit.

Maine stood up and leaned forwards, placing his arms on the desk as the phone continued.

"If you had cared, you would know I am amnesiac. I have no reason, nor dispositions, to hate someone or cause a fight. You do not want to make me dislike you."

The principal nodded, steeling herself slightly.

"Thank you for bringing this evidence to my attention, Ms Hebert," Blackwell said, trying to snatch up the recorder. Maine let her. After all, when plugged in via USB it would actually show the video. Plus, he was still hoping she'd break it.

"I'll see to it that the appropriate parties are punished."

Maine nodded firmly, stepping out of the office with a smirk. She wouldn't likely end up _actually_ punishing the girls, but it was the principle of the matter. Now that she knew he had access to recording devices, she was literally going to be forced to pull her shit together. After all, he could always take it to the media.

Actually, speaking of, Maine made a mental note to do just that as soon as he next donned his armour. Untraceable connection, for the win!

Maine resisted the spring in his step, instead turning it into a cocky swagger. The three girls seemed smug, although confused that he was smiling. Hehe, as funny as them bullying him was, their reactions were going to be even funnier.

He suspected the principal would call them in for punishments the moment she'd checked there was actually video evidence. That was why he'd dropped the last of his recorders in her office. Ah, good times!

Maine made his way back to his last class, even though it'd ended, and started collecting the spares.

* * *

 **[1] Standard military tank in the Halo/RvB universe.**

 **So, good? Bad? Medium? Low high medium low quality? Failed to meet people's expectations?**

 **Let me know.**


	5. Buildup

Maine 'hummed' as he jogged. He was humming the American national anthem, even though it sounded nothing like it. Ah, the sweet taste of patriotism!

His classes had ended relatively uneventfully, with nothing but a few dirty glares from a bunch of randoms. Sophia, the red head and the other one hadn't been in any of his classes, meaning either they didn't take those classes or had actually been punished. He didn't particularly care. He was too busy being bored.

Thankfully, jogging was much more entertaining. It was a good habit to get into to exercise whenever he could, he still had a long way to go after all. His other motive was getting somewhere private. His father would probably be home… the man had taken a lot of early days lately. It was annoying. Maine much preferred solitude, and the man usually berated him for going on jogs, saying it was 'unsafe'.

Hah.

Thankfully, Danny hadn't since the time he'd doubled over laughing at his tone…in retrospect, Maine could sort of understand why he wanted his 'daughter' to get therapy. Ah well, he'd get to mess with a therapist, so that'd be fun.

The street he turned onto was run down and empty, so Maine flickered on his armour, quickly engaging the anti-gravity tech so he didn't crack the cement. He'd actually forgotten he'd had it, considering how little he used it. Generally it was only used to jump higher, which wasn't really a necessity for him. He could already leap a solid five metres into the air with his other enhancements.

He continued jogging absentmindedly, while playing the video in the corner of his screen.

The first part he'd been there for, and he didn't notice anything new, other than the fact that Sophia had training of some kind. Not much, but it was there. She was also training in using a weapon of some kind, likely a small pistol, because her hand had flickered to where a sidearm would be placed. Huh.

The only other difference in the video was the part where he'd blatantly threatened Blackwell. The device had edited that, just enough that observers wouldn't be able to call his behaviour inappropriate. Ah, that was some good programming.

The second part of the video was far, far more interesting. Blackwell had called all three of the delinquents into her office, after watching the video. She gave the red head and the unimportant one a detention, and sending them home early. Eh, better than he expected, although that wasn't saying much.

Then, after they'd left, Blackwell had turned to Sophia, placing his grenade-corder into a desk drawer, before pulling out a device from the same draw. There was a moment of static in his camera.

Oh… do tell, Blackwell. What were you hiding that was important enough to use a jammer? Not that it worked, considering all of Maine's tech was amazing, even for five hundred years in the future. The video wasn't even blurred anymore, having adjusted to the static and countered it.

Blackwell took a long, deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. Finally, after a moment's silence, she spoke. "Miss Hess, after the locker incident, I had expected far better of you." Sophia opened her mouth to say something, but Blackwell slammed her hands against her desk, cutting her off. After a moment, the woman visible controlled herself and sat back down.

"As it stands, Ms Hebert caught your little… 'Blunder' on camera. I will not be able to make this disappear. As of now, you are suspended from school until Thursday, and are removed from the track team."

…Wow. A two and a half day suspension, and removal from an extracurricular activity. Oh yeah, he was fucking uploading the video.

Sophia once again tried to protest the astoundingly generous 'punishment', but Blackwell cut her off angrily.

"I'm trying to accommodate you here, but just because you're a Ward doesn't mean the law doesn't apply to you. As much as I'd like for this whole thing to vanish, there's hard evidence. If you can't restrain yourself in the future, I'll have to take further disciplinary action. You are dismissed."

Sophia began to stalk off angrily, before the video cut.

Huh… Sophia was an orphan? That was… meh. Sort of explained her anger issues. Generally, ward's parents were either dead or abusing, and usually that lead to a pretty bad child hood. She still needed to grow the fuck up, though. A bit of trauma and tragedy didn't excuse consistent poor behaviour and attempted murder.

Unless his past self had been the reason Sophia's parents were gone, which he kind of doubted, honestly. From the state his body had been in, he would've been hard pressed to kill anyone, even with a gun.

Speaking of, Maine drew his Brute Shot, running his hand over it. He'd really need to test at some stage whether he could run out of ammo for it, because he didn't have any spare belts. He wasn't the type to get by on just six shots, either. Hopefully the ammunition would reset.

His sensor detected a civilian up ahead and around a corner, so he dropped his armour. No point frightening people. From what he understood, generally when people saw others running around in armour and carrying weapons, they'd call the 'PRT'. Honestly, soldiers did that all the time. Damn civilians needed to deal with it.

Plus, as much fun as a fight would be, people would probably object to him butchering what amounted to the local police force. Until he decided what he wanted to ultimately do, he'd just need to not gain infamy. Shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Ugh… that probably meant holding off on uploading his video. At least for a few days. There would probably be a few questions about how he knew to fight, because apparently skilled fighting was a rarity these days, and led people to believe you were a Parahuman.

He still wasn't really sure what the big deal with people have supernatural powers was. They didn't use them effectively, and very rarely killed lots of people.

Seriously, people didn't need powers to be terrifying monsters. Anyone could pick up a gun and kill you, hell, he could easily kill people with nothing but his fists. The fact that Parahumans had a little bit of an easier time killing you, and were a bit harder to put down, ultimately didn't matter.

Maybe it was because something like seventy percent of the Parahumans were villains? Well, what did people expect? A Girl Scout troupe? People were assholes who placed themselves above others. Anyone who doesn't is usually lying. Maine had met a grand total of six people who he would honestly say were _good_ people in his lifetime.

Still, at the least Maine could probably do more damage if he spent a few more days gathering video, so hey. Silver lining to the dog turd that was his course of action.

Plus, it'd let him mess with people a bit more. He highly doubted the 'bullies' would stop, they probably try to retaliate. Even though them bullying him had been ruined by the whole corruption thing, he could still find entertainment in hurting them.

Perhaps he'd put a grenade in one of their lockers, so when they opened it, it'd pull the pin? Nah, probably best to use a flashbang. Less destructive and messy, that way.

Plus, they probably didn't deserve death… and it'd be easier to hide his involvement if they weren't seriously injured. Yeah, mainly the last part. He knew he was a horrible person, he'd abandoned his morality years ago.

Project Freelancer had been one of those 'greater good' things, after all. You know, the ones who always took 'necessary sacrifices' which always happened to be other people. Odd, that. He wasn't even sure why they bothered with the pretext, considering the Director and Councillor obviously didn't believe in what they were saying.

Probably for the benefit of the… what, six? Seven? Actually moral people who worked there. Although how they were fooled, he didn't know.

Honestly, they were named 'Freelancers', they used _actual people_ as target practice, and they were routinely sent off to kill people, with no explanation as to why. People would believe what they wanted to, he guessed.

Maybe it was for plausible deniability? Eh, didn't really matter. He had more pressing things to do, like start his exercises now that he'd finished his jog.

* * *

Maine let out a sigh as he stalked through the hallways to his next class. Oh yeah, the redhead was _definitely_ getting a grenade in her locker. She'd decided to pick up the pace taunting Maine, all of which he got on camera including a teacher seeing and ignoring said taunting. All of it had sounded incredibly personal.

Naturally, none of the personal stuff had bothered Maine at all. But she'd rather strongly implied that it was his fault his mother died. And she'd seemed proud of herself for coming up with that insult. She was a horrid person.

Pot, meet kettle, and all that. The main difference was he could and would effectively retaliate. He'd likely have to do it after school was out, though, even though he now knew which locker was hers.

Which was why it pissed him off that school was _still so boring_. He was not going to be putting up with months more of this shit. Maine dearly hoped other schools were better, because Winslow didn't actually teach their students anything. Even without his specialist knowledge.

For the most part, Teachers would give an example of something and then walk the students through how to get there. Then give them free time. Only one class in the last two days had required any level of independent though, and that was to decide what lie to tell on the short assignment about his hopes and dreams.

What kind of assignment was that, anyway? And how the fuck did that have any relevance to World Issues? Maine had thought he'd hated 'Mr G' before, but now he felt even more strongly about his loathing.

As it was, Maine was perfectly capable of dealing with it for another little while, but the fact of the matter was that he didn't _want_ to! The hellhole was a disgrace to learning institutions everywhere! Perhaps he should destroy it somehow? That was the only way he could think of to improve it.

None of the teachers were fully qualified, either. He'd researched their files after hacking into a government database. Sure, they had degrees in teaching, but they'd never been checked out by any government regulated official, and had no practical training under their belts. Maybe that was a difference in time, but it still felt pretty shady to Maine.

He was getting more and more tempted to just release his video and transfer, but he was determined to get a few of the more incompetent teachers fired first. It was practically a public service! How the hell had they even gotten the positions?

Even the relatively competent teachers weren't actually teaching much. He'd gone out of his way to briefly observe every class he could, and still hadn't learned anything.

Maine sighed and decided to skip his next class. Fuck that. It was Thursday, he was sparring with that boy today, he'd been looking forwards to it all week. He'd just spend the extra time warming up, or have a longer jog. That was a much more productive use of an hour than sitting in a classroom, before actively burning all of the 'information' gained out of his mind.

With a flame as hot as the sun, if necessary. He had limited brain cells. They shouldn't be wasted like that.

With a sigh, Maine began to stretch, allowing himself to feel slightly hopeful. Perhaps this would be fun.

* * *

 **...Not too happy with this chapter. That was why it was delayed. Hope people enjoy it anyways!**


End file.
